Back On My Feet
by larkgrace
Summary: Annabeth is stubborn; you don't need to be a child of Athena to know that. But when a horrible accident lands her in a wheelchair, possibly forever, will she accept the help she needs? Or will she never be able to get back on her feet? Percabeth.
1. Prologue

**This is going to be extremely angsty.**

**And here's a clue: I got inspired to write this by a combination of reading **_**The Running Dream,**_** which is an amazing book, and watching **_**Soul Surfer,**_** which is an amazing movie.**

**No, I don't own anything that needs a copyright sign.**

O-o-O

When the going gets tough, the tough kills monsters. That's been my mantra since I was seven and ran away from home. My life has always been about being independent, about never needing anyone to do anything for me, about being a role model. Being tough.

But what if the tough couldn't kill monsters? What if the tough was forced into submission, into total and complete helplessness? What if the tough was wheelchair-bound for the rest of its life, trapped by the sheer inability to defend itself?

What if the tough couldn't fight anymore?

What nobody ever tells you is that sometimes, the tough gets knocked onto its butt and is left there to flail and flop and basically become a sitting duck. Sometimes the tough needs help, but refuses to admit it, so the stupid and stubborn tough gets snapped up by the monsters in a single, horrible gulp. But if the tough is smart, the tough will accept the outstretched hands and pull itself back up and go right back to fighting. Sometimes the tough will accept the help it needs.

I guess I need to introduce myself. My name is Annabeth Chase, I'm eighteen years old, and if you call me Annie I'll slit your throat with a spoon. I am the tough. I don't need anyone, or at least I didn't. Then I got knocked on my butt, and for a while I swatted away everyone's hands and sulked, which was a big mistake on my part. But finally the tough got smart and grabbed the hands. I pulled myself back up.

_This is the story of how I got back on my feet._

O-o-O

**Review? I know it's a little mysterious, but all will be explained in later chapters, I promise.**


	2. Falling

**I'm back, and better than ever. Sort of.**

**So, any guesses as to how Annabeth got knocked on her butt? Because it will be revealed at the end of this chapter, and DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT SKIPPING AHEAD. I'm warning you.**

**Nope. Still don't own, people.**

O-o-O

I seriously love New York. You can just wander the city without even stopping at a single tourist attraction or overpriced store and still have the time of your life.

"This is weird. No monster attacks, no unexpected visitors, no kidnappings. Something must be wrong with the universe."

That most insightful comment came from my stupid but admittedly cute boyfriend, Percy, also known as Seaweed Brain. "Yeah, a relaxing walk through the city. What could go wrong?"

"You know better than to ask that question. _Everything _goes wrong around us."

"Around you, Seaweed Brain. The universe doesn't have it out for _me."_

As it turns out, I was wrong about that. I really hate being wrong.

"Wait." Percy grabbed my arm before I could step in front of an alleyway, pushing both of us against the brick wall of a hotel and holding up a finger to stop my oncoming question. "Does something seem wrong to you?"

My eyes fell on a trash can lid near the mouth of the alley, sans trash can, which could have just meant some homeless guys scavenging for discarded food. But I couldn't see the actual can _anywhere._ The lid looked dented, and I mean more than usual, and there was something else off about it…

"Are those bite marks?" I whispered.

"That's what I thought. Monster?"

"Maybe. You're being strangely observant today."

"I had caffeine. Want me to go check it out?"

I pulled my cap out of my back pocket and waved it in his face, which made him stick his tongue out at me. I rolled my eyes at him as I pulled it over my head, and when I looked down, my body had vanished. _Thanks, Mom._

"Watch my back," I whispered in his ear.

"Sort of hard to do when you're invisible."

I didn't bother to reply and slipped around the corner, scanning the ground for trash so I wouldn't step on it and make noise. The place was an absolute minefield of hamburger wrappers and soda cans, so it took me a minute to navigate into the shadows and away from all the traffic noises. Once I did, though, there were snuffling and clanking sounds coming from somewhere in front of me, although it was too dark to see. But I'd been in the alleyway behind my dad's house enough to recognize the sounds of a dog digging for meals in people's trash. If, that is, the dog were the size of a truck.

I didn't think so.

I crouched behind a dumpster for a minute while my eyesight adjusted enough to see, then peeked deeper into the alley. Roughly twenty feet away, a huge hellhound had its nose stuck in a garbage can.

I fingered my knife in the waistband of my jeans while I considered the options I had, which weren't that many. I could sit here and do nothing until it left, since it couldn't see me and chances were it wouldn't be able to smell me with its snout buried in rotting trash, but it wasn't smart to take chances. I could also try and signal Percy to get him down here, but that would most likely get me killed before he could get a chance of help. And, of course, I could try to take the thing myself, which could almost be counted as suicide.

Of course I took the suicidal option, because I had managed to convince myself that killing an oversized mutt really couldn't be that hard. All I had to do was sneak up on it while it was scrabbling around in the trash, stick my knife in it, and go on my merry way.

It didn't work out according to plan.

I shifted my weight forward, preparing to get up, and my knee—which I had messed up in training the year before—made the tiniest popping noise.

I didn't even have time to think _oh crap_ before the monster whirled on me. I held my breath and froze; maybe if I didn't make another noise the hellhound would get bored and go back to rooting around in the rotting garbage.

Needless to say, I wasn't that lucky. The beast put its nose to the ground and started sniffing, taking about two steps before it was right in front of me. I fingered my knife, waiting for it to back off so I could take a breath, when its snot-covered nose brushed my arm.

_Now _I could think _crap._

"Percy!" I yelled, rolling under the hellhound's strike and crawling between its legs. I drew my knife from my belt and lunged for the monster's back leg, but it leaped back and growled in my general direction. (It brought me some satisfaction, however small, to note that the beast's glare was a few feet to the left.)

I whipped off my hat so Percy wouldn't accidentally skewer me with his sword, which would suck to no end, and slammed back against the dumpster to avoid the chainsaw-sized teeth. I tried to pull myself on top of the trash heaps, to get higher ground, when the hellhound sank its fangs into my leg. I kicked my good leg out and tried to beat it off with my fearsome Converse. The mutt pulled me off the slimy dumpster and shook me like an oversized chew toy, gnawing on my leg like it thought I would squeak if it chomped hard enough. Instead, I screamed.

And then the teeth were gone, and the ground was rushing at me. I hit the pavement hard and howled again because gods, my leg was burning with white-hot pain and I'd landed in a puddle of something sticky and wet—possibly my own blood? I didn't know—and gods it _hurt_ and I wanted to pass out but I couldn't, not yet.

Percy's sword clattered to the ground a few feet away and his hands pulled my hair back as I pushed myself up on my elbows and puked, which definitely did _not_ make me feel better.

I shoved my hand in my jeans pocket, as long as I was thinking somewhat clearly, and pulled out my phone, which I tossed to Percy and sobbed, "Call…911."

"Not camp?" he asked while I rolled onto my back and my upper body fell on the pavement. I barely had the presence of mind to feel disgusted when some of my hair blew into the puddle of vomit. He pulled his shirt off and pressed it against my leg, which made me feel so much pain that for a few seconds I blacked out, completely beyond the point of screaming. Even in my dizzy state, I could feel his hands shaking.

"No," I said, and swallowed back the bile welling up in my throat. "Won't…make it." I whimpered and squirmed as Percy's hands pressed harder on my leg; why wouldn't he stop? It hurt so much…

"Annabeth, I swear if you die on me now I'll hunt you down in the Underworld and kill you again," he growled through gritted teeth with the phone pressed to his ear.

What had he said? I lifted my head to ask and caught sight of my lower body. Why had I put on red jeans this morning? Did I even _own_ red jeans? I must, because the color reminded me of blood…_blood…_gods, I was dizzy. Why did the thought of blood put a twist in my stomach? And why was Percy yelling into the phone? Why was he so worried? I felt extremely light-headed, yes, but why was that so bad?

My eyes slid shut, and Percy grabbed my arm, shaking me and telling me to stay awake, but I was so tired, I just couldn't do it, my eyes were so heavy…

My head rolled to the side as my consciousness gave way to blissful sleep.

O-o-O

**Cliffie! Oohhh…**

**Okay, this was done sooner than expected. Also, just decided to put my own personal sob story out there: I run cross country and recently found out that my knee is really messed up and I won't be able to run this season. Thankfully it's nothing serious, so I just have to do physical therapy and not surgery.**

**Sorry about the babble there. Review?**


	3. The End

**I know. This took way too long. But my computer crashed, so I didn't have access to my stories for a while. *holds out tray of cookies* Sorry?**

**Anyway. Disclaimer. I do not own Percy Jackson and the freakin' epic Olympians, or anything else that randomly crops up here needing a copyright sign. (Unfortunately.)**

O-o-O

When I woke up, my first absurd thought was: _someone stripped me._

Not that I'm perverted or anything, but I was wearing one of those paper-thin backless hospital gowns that some sadistic doctor must have designed specifically to make the patients uncomfortable. Obviously I was in no condition to have done it myself, but _someone _must have.

And then I had trouble thinking much but _ow,_ because my nervous system must have finally woken up, and my whole body thrummed with a dull aching pain—except, oddly enough, my right leg, the one the hellhound used for a squeaky toy. I could feel my hip, and then below that it faded into nothing. Maybe it was some freakishly strong painkiller so I wouldn't feel the various broken bones or whatever else was wrong with it. Strange that I could feel the rest of my bumps and bruises just fine. I moaned a little when my head throbbed with a vengeance—I wouldn't be surprised if I had a minor concussion—and then someone took my bandaged hand and whispered, "Annabeth? Can you hear me?"

I opened my eyes to see my dad hovering over me, reaching up to brush some loose hair out of my face, but I smacked his hand away out of habit. Whenever Percy did that it was usually either to ruffle my hair—which I _hated_—or to yank on my ponytail.

Speaking of Seaweed Brain…

"Where's Percy?" I croaked, since I couldn't see him anywhere in the room, but as my senses slowly focused I could see my stepmother and Bobby on those molded plastic chairs that they always have at hospitals, and Matthew claiming the window seat.

My dad's face fell, but he said, "He's getting checked out in another room, to make sure he's fine. That drunk driver hit you pretty hard."

_Drunk driver?_ The Mist must have worked some serious overtime for that one. My dad and stepmom were wearing those stupid little rubber bracelets, like the ones they gave out in Driver's Ed, that said really corny phrases like _I'll Take The Keys! _and _Friends Don't Let Friends Drive Drunk _and other stuff like that. How very hypocritically sweet of them.

"There was no drunk driver," I said, pushing myself into a sitting position despite my dad's protests. I threw the sheet off my legs and got to, "It was just a stupid hell…" before I caught sight of the damage.

My left leg was a myriad of cuts and bruises, which was no less than I expected. I'd had much worse, and while my muscles ached a little, it was nothing that couldn't be fixed with a little Tylenol and gritted teeth. But my right leg…

Where my right leg should have been, there was a foot-long stump wrapped in gauze attached to my hip.

And then _nothing._

I started hyperventilating. The heart monitor next to me started to do its _beep, beep _thing annoyingly fast, which was pretty embarrassing, but I didn't have time to think about it because I was amending my earlier mental statement. I had thrown the sheet off my _leg._

My eyes misted up and I clenched my teeth because I was _not _going to cry.

"Annabeth? Sweetheart?" my dad said, but I cut him off.

"What. Happened?" I snarled. "Did that oversize mutt _chew my leg off? _Because I distinctly remember having two legs when I passed out from blood loss."

In my peripheral vision, I saw the boys wince. Maybe they didn't like the idea of their big sister getting used as a punching bag.

My dad rubbed the back of my hand, which I'm pretty sure was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it wiggled the IV stuck in my vein and forced me to bite my lip so I wouldn't swear. "It didn't…bite your leg off," he said, looking like he might vomit at the thought. "The, uh, car—"

"Hellhound," I grumbled. "Are you really that stupid?"

"The hellhound shattered your leg bones—" he paused here, possibly to stop himself from vomiting—"and ripped most of the muscles in your leg. They couldn't save it, so they decided to…"

"Amputate," I snapped. "You can say it. They amputated my leg."

My stepmother rose from her chair and knelt next to my hospital bed. "Annabeth, we've been talking, and your father and I agree that it would probably be for the best if you came back to live in California, instead of staying out here. So that we can take care of you," she said. "There's a very good school for physically disabled people nearby, and—"

"_Excuse me?"_ I yelled, my voice an octave higher than usual. The step-witch flinched and said, "We just want to take care of you—"

"Oh, so I can't take care of myself?"

"Told you she'd take it well," Matthew muttered.

My dad cut in, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder and saying, "We know you're used to taking care of yourself, and we know you'd like to stay in New York with Percy, but there are some things you just can't handle."

Oh, this was rich. Trying to play the loving, caring parents now—when I ran away from home, they didn't talk to me for five years. When the world almost ended, and _I _was one of the heroes, I got an e-mail. A freaking _e-mail._ When Percy vanished from the face of the earth? Nothing. No sympathy, just, "We told you that boy would cause trouble." But now, now? Trying to pull me away from my real family because they _thought_ they knew what was best? This was over the line.

"You think I can't handle this," I said slowly. "I've held the sky. I led armies. I fought Titans. I killed giants. And you think there is _anything _I _can't handle?"_

"Annabeth, you're only human."

"Half human!" I snapped. "Half god! I know how to take care of myself!"

"Just listen—"

"No!" I yelled, beyond reason, the adrenaline pumping through my body having washed away all common sense—or maybe that was whatever was dripping in the IV plugged into my veins. "Get out! Just _get out!"_

"Come on, Mom," Bobby said, hustling her to the door and flashing and _I'm sorry_ look over his shoulder—the only time one of my brothers had apologized to me for anything. My dad got dragged out by Matthew, and the door swung shut with a gentle click.

I sat there fuming for a minute before my eyes slid back to what was left of my leg.

I wasn't normally much of a pessimist, but I couldn't shake the feeling that my life was _over._ I couldn't run. I couldn't fight. I probably couldn't even make it to the _bathroom_ by myself, which was mortifying.

I could feel my throat tightening, and I clenched my jaw so hard I thought my teeth would crack, because I was _not_ going to cry, when Percy opened the door and sat down on the window seat that my brother had vacated. He didn't even look at my leg, just said, "I thought I was going to lose you."

"I'm too stubborn for that," I said, my voice thick.

"How are you?"

"I'm…fine," I mumbled, taking a deep breath.

He got up and sat on the side of my bed, carefully balancing on the edge, like I still had a leg to accidentally sit on. Probably just force of habit. Then he put his hand on my chin and made me look up, even though I was perfectly satisfied with examining the bloodstains on my bandages, and said, "You don't have to do that. Not with me."

I couldn't help it. My chin started trembling. I tried to take a deep breath, but that just resolved into a sob. And then the tears started to flow.

So much for not crying.

He leaned forward and pulled my head down on his shoulder, letting me cry myself out on his shirt—I found it slightly unfair that _he _wasn't stuck in a stupid gown like me—and telling me about the chaos that had ensued after I lost consciousness, and his apparent lack of injury which had baffled the doctors in the emergency room. He told me the fabricated story about the hit-and-run drunk driver who had rammed into the passenger side of our car at a hundred and five miles an hour, who the cops were still looking for and was evidently named Connor Stoll. Thankfully I had a good excuse to be fuzzy on the details.

Finally I managed to calm myself down and sat up, and briefly contemplated resting my chin on my good knee before I remembered my rather unfortunate lack of proper clothing, so I settled for the wall behind my bed.

"You know, you're going to be okay," he finally said. "They'll probably give you a fake metal leg. Then you can kick me as hard as you want and won't feel a thing," he added with a weak grin.

"Right," I said. He took my hand, pulling it away from the tape around by bandages that I had been picking at and wrapping it up in his.

"You were really brave," he said, studying the needle in the back of my hand. "I don't know what I would have done, if I were you."

"You physically _can't_ get hurt. You would've been fine."

"I would've been scared out of my head."

"And I wasn't?"

Percy started laughing tiredly. "I think we both need sleep. We're talking nonsense."

"_You _need sleep," I corrected. "I'm talking nonsense because I'm pretty sure the stuff in this IV is making me loopy."

He dropped my hand and stood up, bending over to kiss me once. "I'll see you tomorrow, then, when at least one of us is thinking straight. And I'll see what I can do about getting you some dark chocolate," he added with a wink as he headed for the door.

"You know how to cheer me up."

And then he was gone.

That was the first time the pain hit me. Percy had been gone maybe ten seconds, but the door was still open, so I'm sure everyone in the hallway had no trouble hearing me.

It was like someone had set my leg on fire—except, of course, there wasn't a leg to burn. White-hot pain exploded without warning, and I doubled over, shrieking. I tried to grab at the source of the pain, but my fingers just brushed against the papery sheets on the bed. I started sobbing again, and oh gods, it was like that dog was chewing my limb again—

And as abruptly as it had started, the pain stopped. The area where my leg used to be felt exactly as it should—it felt like nothing. Empty space. No fire. No pain. I was fine.

I heard people thundering through the door. Percy, pen in hand, looking around wildly for monsters, made it in first; Bobby and Matthew were right behind him. A nurse shoved past all three of them and knelt next to the bed, giving me a quick once-over looking for any obvious injuries.

"What happened?" she asked, checking my IV and the crazy readouts on the heart monitor.

"I…I don't know," I gasped, still in shock from the abruptness of the attack.

Percy crossed the room and leaned against the wall. "Do you remember that girl that Chir—" He caught himself and glanced at the nurse before correcting, "Mr. Brunner told us about? That girl that lost her arm in a surfing accident?"

I vaguely recalled Chiron telling us about a demigod—daughter of Thetis or some other minor goddess related to water—who got her arm bitten off by a shark. She was at camp before my time, so I had never met her, but I was pretty sure her name started with a _B._ Brittany? Bethany? Something like that. In any case, she used to have these fits where she would double over in pain with absolutely no warning and scream, clutching her arm. Chiron said they were…

"Phantom pains?" I said. "Great. Now there's something wrong with my head, too."

For all of those who are confused, and I would guess it's quite a few, phantom pains are completely psychological. Basically, your brain tricks your body into thinking there's still a limb where there isn't, and that the nonexistent limb is in extreme pain. Most often they were seen in cases where the limb in question was removed with a lot of traumatic mental effects—which explains the head comment. But I digress.

"There's nothing wrong with your head, dearie," the nurse said. Her name tag looked like it said something along the lines of _SHRAA, _which probably meant _Sarah._ "It's just post-traumatic. It happens to all sorts of people. And," she added, "the same principal that causes the phantom pains might convince your body, once you get a prosthetic leg—" The mention of a fake leg brought up the strangest mental image of myself in a bad sci-fi movie as an android—"that the fake leg is real. Makes the adjustment easier, you know."

At least I had something to look forward to. I could hear the cyborg jokes now.

The nurse left, most likely having better things to do than explain mental problems to teenage girls, and Percy stuck Riptide back in his pocket.

"I always knew my sister was a psycho," Matthew said, shaking his head and leaving the room. Bobby followed.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Percy asked. I nodded and lay down.

I closed my eyes and willed myself into a dreamless sleep.

O-o-O

**So. What did you think? Loved it? Hated it? Thought it made absolutely no sense? Review and tell me. CC is appreciated.**


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